


Dance

by midlistauthor



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, bad at titles and summaries, but hamlet gets better, dance au, hamlet has harm ocd, hamlet is trans ftm, horatio has social anxiety, i dont think theres a hamratio dance au so im just doing my civic duty, i dont understand ballet culture though im sorry, just thoughts though, some parallels to the play, theyre mostly all teens still, theyve all got their fair share of disorders, thoughts of self harm and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midlistauthor/pseuds/midlistauthor
Summary: Hamlet hasn't been at the dance studio for long, but that doesn't mean that he can't dance. In fact, he really can. Horatio has been a ballet dancer for years, and it shows. Hamlet and Horatio both think they're out of each other's league.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh I have a lot to say here, but most importantly, I've never written almost entirely in past perfect tense for, like, half a chapter, so...if there's someone out there who's good with verb tenses (this is a fandom based around a work of classic literature, so there's got to be, right?), I'd appreciate feedback there. I love writing so I'd really appreciate any sort of Constructive Criticism. I'm not sure how I feel about the pacing, either. I also live off of validation, too, though!  
> I reference some choreos in here that I'll post the link to in the end notes. I couldn't decide which ones to choose so I shoved as many as possible into the first scene, lmao. I hope everyone enjoys!

The first time they had talked was about a month ago, in November. It had been the night of their quarterly performance, an event where the dancers of a certain dance studio would get to show off what they had learned in the last few months on the stage of the small auditorium across the street. First to go would be the children’s classes, and many parents would come to watch. Later in the evening, all the big kids would take their turns demonstrating their new choreos and cheering each other on. The children weren’t allowed to stay and watch, which would really just be for the benefit of the hip hop dancers. Horatio couldn’t have imagined that the ballet dancers would ever do anything interesting enough to be considered anything but PG.

On the stage then was Ophelia, dancing to some somber orchestral song. She had worn a top and matching flowy skirt of a white-blue color which contrasted beautifully with her smooth brown skin. The stage lights had caught on the sparkles that had dusted her cheeks and lined her eyelids. Horatio knew her to have extraordinary makeup skills when she put in the time necessary. When Ophelia had finished, ending in a split, all her friends in the audience had whistled and cheered. Horatio had clapped, too. She then hopped down off the stage gracefully.

Next to go were Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They were very popular among their small crowd. Guildenstern had jumped on to the stage and watched Rosencrantz struggle pathetically to get up, rather than offering him a hand. People had cheered the whole while, only quieting when the two were in position. Then everyone had begun cheering again when Missy Elliott’s “Work It” started playing. Horatio had watched quietly from the back. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had bounced in place as the intro played (“This is a Missy Elliott one-time exclusive, come on”). As soon as the chorus had come in, the two were moving every part of their bodies, and with an impressive sense of rhythm. They would flash each other smiles as they danced, seemingly impressed with themselves. They had made sure, of course, to show their asses off at the line “See my hips and my tips, don’t ya?” A few people had whistled and hollered. Horatio had noticed that there was a large difference between hip hop and ballet culture.

As the song faded, Hamlet was making his way to the stage. Horatio had been, admittedly, a bit more interested then. Horatio had always wished he could get himself to talk to him. Hamlet, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern had positioned themselves in a line facing away from the audience. With a sharp scream, “Smooth Criminal” started blaring from the speakers, and the dancers spun on their heels. Horatio had guessed it to be a remix, as the song had noticeably more sound effects than he remembered. Horatio had felt completely entranced by all of Hamlet’s movements. He had noticed, too, Hamlet’s choice in clothing; he had worn ripped black jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt. There marked another difference between hip hop and ballet, Horatio guessed. Tights were all that he could wear. He had still tugged at his self-consciously, even after all those years. Horatio had so distracted himself that he had hardly noticed the performance had ended so soon. Each had typically been only a minute or two.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had jumped off the stage, and Guildenstern seemed to run to his seat in search of something. Meanwhile, Hamlet was sitting on the edge of the stage and was in the middle of removing his shoes and socks. Horatio had thought this to be a good sign - it must have meant that Hamlet was dancing again, right? Horatio had imagined there had to be some practicality to dancing barefoot as opposed to in sneakers. Then Guildenstern had returned with a pair of heels, which he handed to Hamlet. Horatio had been confused and, really, in disbelief. They couldn’t have been any shorter than four inches. That was not good for Horatio. Who had let one man have so much talent?

Hamlet had strapped the heels on and managed to stand back up with unimaginable ease. Everyone had started cheering noisily. He had begun moving around as Jason Derulo’s “Wiggle” started playing. That was one Horatio hadn’t heard in a while. Following the end of the first chorus, Hamlet had really begun dancing. Horatio couldn’t have imagined how much strength he must have had in his legs, and balance, too. Not to mention that Hamlet had appeared to be moving just as easily as he had been in his sneakers. Jason Derulo had not been kidding when he had sung the words “hot dammit.” The languidness of Hamlet’s movements had been unfair. As the chorus came back around, Hamlet had turned, kicked his leg, then dove into some sort of flip that Horatio couldn’t have even begun to understand - and in heels all the while. He had landed perfectly, sliding with his body mere inches above the stage floor. People had cheered. Horatio could only clap absently, having been entirely absorbed by the performance. Hamlet then slid up into a squatting position and blew a kiss towards his friends dramatically.

As Hamlet’s dance had come to a close, Laertes had come over to nudge Horatio and tell him that it was their group’s turn to go up and perform. Horatio had been glad that the routine was basically muscle memory to him, as he couldn’t have claimed to have been entirely focused. Hamlet had taken his seat between Rosencrantz and Ophelia. “That’s my brother,” she had reminded him, pointing at Laertes. Hamlet had nodded, though he hadn’t bothered to turn his eyes away from the dancer he had been watching more keenly.

They had gone to dance the following week, same as any. Horatio always seemed to have class around the same time Hamlet would be in the studio. Usually, he, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern would occupy the backroom while Horatio waited for his class to start, sitting on the couch by the front entrance. The former three had been walking out of the back hallway, bustling as usual. But that day, Horatio had gotten up from his seat by the door and had forced himself to speak up. He had been incredibly nervous, but he would have hated himself after if he hadn’t seized the opportunity to talk - Horatio had known that much from experience. “You’re Hamlet, right?”

Hamlet had stopped dead in his tracks, completely caught off guard. “Uh, yes…?” Ros and Guil had stopped behind him, perplexed, but Horatio hadn’t the capacity to notice in that moment. 

“I wanted to tell you that I found your performance the other night to be very impressive.” For all the times Horatio had rehearsed that, he wouldn’t be able to recall what he had just said because of all of the anxiety stuffing his brain up like cotton.

“Oh, thanks! Yours as well,” Hamlet had said. Horatio then made eye contact for the first time, and in that moment, all of the nerves had him feeling like he was going to throw up. But he would remember exactly what Hamlet had said, though it hadn’t been much (how else would he over-analyze it?). Hamlet’s two friends had then ushered him out the door impatiently, and Horatio, finding himself to be a bit dazed, had sat back down on the couch.

And that had been the first time Horatio and Hamlet had talked. In the weeks that followed, Hamlet would wave to Horatio shyly on his way out, and Horatio would wave shyly back. He had been hardly convinced that it was really him, of all people, that Hamlet had been waving to. That had been the beginning of their friendship. 

Then it was New Year’s Eve. One of the dance coaches was hosting a party at their house, and because most practically lived at the dance center, hardly anyone had anywhere else to be. Hamlet was sitting on the couch, awkwardly sipping at a plastic cup of soda. He had been with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, his closest friends there, but they had just gone off to do something. While Hamlet was busy staring into his cup, Ophelia sat herself down beside him. He startled. 

“Hello, Hamlet,” Ophelia said, her voice sweet.

“Hey.” He shifted to face her. “How have you been doing?”

“Good! Have you gotten anything to eat yet?” When Hamlet shook his head, Ophelia continued. “Well, when you do, you should try the cake I made and tell me what you think. It’s that one over there.” She pointed in the direction of the kitchen counter. There stood a glorious cake atop a white stand. The base frosting was a rich green and was decorated with delicate buttercream flowers. Hamlet imagined it looked even more impressive when observed up close. “It’s chocolate,” Ophelia added.

“Wow. It looks really nice.”

“Thanks! I would love it if you tried some.”

“I definitely will,” Hamlet said. As an afterthought, he added, “I love chocolate.”

“Great! I’m going to go find some of my other friends.” Ophelia jumped up and waved. “Bye!” Hamlet waved back.

He sat for a while longer, sipping at his soda, trying to convince himself to relinquish his spot on the sofa. Out of the corner of his eye, Hamlet swore he noticed Laertes staring at him. Hamlet dared to look and met his eyes. Laertes promptly looked away. Hamlet’s depression meds, with half-assed effort, told him it was because he was so irresistible that Laertes had inevitably become infatuated with him. The combined power of all of Hamlet’s comorbid mental disorders, on the other hand, assured him that it was only because he had done something wrong. He looked away.

Having had experienced enough discomfort, Hamlet finally emptied his cup and stood up. He scanned the room and went for Ophelia’s cake. He took a moment to observe it silently and was about to actually take a slice when someone came up beside him. 

“Hamlet?” It was Horatio. “How...How are you?”

“Oh, Horatio,” Hamlet remarked. Horatio was honestly surprised Hamlet even knew his name. “I was just getting some cake. Ophelia made it. It’s chocolate.”

“It looks good.” Horatio wrung his hands. “Well, I thought I might come say ‘hello.’ And perhaps introduce myself. Though it seems you already know my name.”

“Of course I do. You’re a beautiful dancer.” Hamlet wished he would think for half a second before he let words out of his mouth. 

“Oh, thank you! But my dancing is nothing compared to yours.” Horatio believed that to be true, but he noted that trying to start and hold a conversation by devaluing himself was not one of his best ideas. He tried very hard to think quick. “Um...Do you know what song you’re going to do next?”

“Oh, no,” Hamlet said, waving his hand. “We’re - Ros and Guil and I are just working on some random stuff until we decide on a song. We’re planning on doing one longer piece this time.”

“Huh.”

“How about you?”

“Oh, I think Laertes is composing a choreography right now. He played the song for us, but I don’t even know what the title of it is. I don’t have much say in it either way.” Horatio kept fidgeting with his hands, looking down at them more than he did at Hamlet. 

“Why is that? I’m sure he values your opinion.” Hamlet hardly knew Horatio, yet he knew he already held value to Horatio’s opinion.

“No, well…” How did the conversation turn on him again? “It doesn’t really matter, so long as I get to dance.”

Hamlet nodded thoughtfully. “So what do you do outside of dance?”

“Oh, um. I study...a lot. I guess I’m not that interesting of a person.” Dammit, Horatio.

“I don’t believe that.”

Horatio felt his face heating up. He thought for a second, having been taken aback. “Well, I do enjoy literature. I like reading and writing.”

“Hm,” Hamlet hummed. “What do you write about?”

Horatio ran his hand along the back of his neck, just for the sake of doing something different with it. “I guess I mostly write about the things I read. I’m a fan of writing papers.”

“That’s cool,” Hamlet said. Horatio didn’t think it was. “I like poetry.” That, Horatio thought was cool.

“Oh, really? Do you write your own, too?” Horatio asked. Hamlet nodded and looked back towards the cake and was about to respond when Horatio evidently took notice. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You said you were planning on getting some cake, didn’t you? I’m sorry, I certainly didn’t mean to keep you from it. I can just-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Hamlet assured him. He looked at the unnecessarily large knife left out for the cake. “Um, I do write my own poetry, actually.” He wondered, unable to stop himself, how the knife would feel across the skin of his wrist. He wondered how much pressure he’d have to apply to draw blood. How deep could it go? He winced but couldn’t derail the train of thoughts. He imagined scarlet red blood rolling down his pale arm. 

“That’s fantastic! I’ve never been very good at writing poetry. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you write about? I would love to read it, though it’s my understanding most poets are very protective of their work.”

Hamlet looked into Horatio’s curious eyes and drew in a breath. What would happen if he were to pick up the knife? He could grab the blade in his other hand and hot blood would spill from his palm. What if he took the knife and plunged it straight into Horatio’s stomach, or in between his ribs, and watched him double over in front of him? Hamlet’s breaths got shorter. Then Horatio would start crying, very likely, and his blood would pool on the floor and soak into the nearby carpet. Everyone would see. Hamlet would probably start crying, too. Horatio didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t deserve that. Then Hamlet would go to jail for the rest of his life and be forced to live with the guilt. He’d probably kill himself. Maybe if he’d just kill himself now, no one would be in danger - 

Hamlet coughed. “Yeah, um...You know, sorry, I’m not feeling too well. I might just go home. It’s not very safe to drive late at night on New Year’s, anyway.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry.” Horatio worried he had started talking too much. He hoped he hadn’t made Hamlet feel uncomfortable.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Hamlet rubbed his wrist. “Did you drive yourself here too?”

“Yeah.”

Hamlet nodded. “Try not to stay out too late. I enjoyed talking to you.” With a shaky sigh, he started turning away to leave.

“Um, Hamlet, wait,” Horatio asked nervously. “I’m very sorry, but - and if you say no, I completely understand - I was wondering if I could get your phone number? I mean, I quite liked talking with you. I hope that doesn’t come across weird. But - But I would like to talk again sometime soon.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hamlet said, turning around. He dug his phone out of the pocket of his pants and unlocked it. “You can put your number in and I’ll text you when I get home.” Horatio took his phone gingerly and entered his contact information. His hands were shaking a bit. “That way you’ll get my number and you’ll know I got home alive, I guess.” 

Horatio handed Hamlet’s phone back to him. “Thank you very much.”

Hamlet pointed his finger towards him. “Thank _you_. And goodbye.”

When Hamlet arrived home, he did exactly as he said he would, and texted Horatio with the following message: “It’s Hamlet. I’m home alive”

He changed out of his clothes and got into his bed. Then Hamlet remembered he needed to text Ophelia, too. He sent “The cake was delicious :P left early to avoid traffic.” Hamlet might not have eaten the cake, but he figured it would have tasted just as good as it looked. 

About an hour later, just past midnight, Hamlet got a message back from Horatio: “Me, too. Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year,” Hamlet sent back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts! Here's the list of dances I reference in order:  
> "Work It" - Missy Elliott  
> https://youtu.be/6ysXfDfr6cI  
> "Smooth Criminal" - Michael Jackson (Immortal Version)  
> https://youtu.be/HqZ0ruLVHPw  
> "Wiggle" - Jason Derulo (original vid was taken down for some reason)  
> https://youtu.be/rjQsLseBtWo  
> Even though I spend every waking hour thinking about this fic, I won't have time for regular updates, but please stick with me, folks! Lots of love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so it’s been an actual month since I uploaded this. Life is a lot to handle. This chapter isn’t very long or particularly great in any regard but I figured I might as well post what I’ve got. Also when writing this I was like...Am I really going to go so far as to give Hamlet/Horatio the same taste in music as me...The answer is yes. Thanks so much to the people who’ve read this, all the comments mean the world to me.

Not much had changed, Horatio thought, between him and Hamlet. They continued to wave to each other at dance, though with a little less apprehension than before. Horatio also liked that he no longer had to wait for that small, once-weekly interaction - that he could now text Hamlet, too. That said, Horatio was most often too anxious to do so. Fortunately, Hamlet was not.

The week following the party, Horatio found himself in school, the bell for lunch having just rung. He, as usual, retreated to his favorite teacher’s almost empty classroom to enjoy his half hour break in peace. Horatio opened his phone and was surprised to see two new text notifications.

Hamlet:  _ Are you at school _

Hamlet:  _ You haven’t responded so I’m guessing yes _

Horatio smiled. He opened his phone to text back.

Horatio:  _ Yes, aren’t you? _

Horatio left his backpack behind to go to the cafeteria to get his free lunch. Fortunately, he was able to return without any unwanted interactions (which would equate to approximately every interaction). The cafeteria was always crowded and often a source of stress. Horatio set his plastic tray down on an empty desk and pulled his phone out again.

Hamlet:  _ I do virtual school so kinda _

Hamlet:  _ Do you wanna hang out this weekend _

Horatio felt a wave of excitement and a little bit of nausea wash over him when he read Hamlet’s more recent text. He set his phone down and quickly fished his planner out of his backpack. He checked that he had nothing on his schedule for the weekend - no volunteering, no babysitting, no other commitments - and he was free. 

Horatio:  _ That would be great! I’ll just have to ask my parents later. Where would you like to meet? _

Hamlet:  _ My place? _

Horatio felt his heart hammer against his chest for a moment, and he willed it just to be normal.

Horatio:  _ Sounds good! _

He turned to his lunch and apprehensively picked a chicken nugget up in his fingers. The breading was weirdly soggy. He ate with reluctance. You get what you pay for and all that.

Later, Hamlet texted Horatio his address and they decided to meet at noon. Horatio’s parents gave him permission.

When the weekend came around, Horatio woke up and started getting himself ready - physically and mentally. He kept himself occupied with that to help keep his anxiety from festering but ended up ready an hour before schedule. So Horatio sat, and waited, and his anxiety built up until he felt nauseous. But it would be okay.

Around that time, with an hour until noon, Hamlet got out of bed and decided it might be a good idea to pick his room up a bit.

Then the hour ticked away, with Horatio parked in Hamlet’s rather large driveway at 11:59 AM. He was completely astounded by the size of the house and spent his last minute gawking at it some more. Horatio finally exited his car wringing his hands. He approached the front door slowly and rung the doorbell.

After what felt like a minute and approximately one hundred and thirty pounding heartbeats, the door swung inward. Behind it stood a man with a protruding stomach who appeared to be otherwise lanky, and beside him was a short, plump woman. “Hello!” the man bellowed. “You must be Horatio. I’m Claudius, Hamlet’s stepfather, and this is my wife, Gertrude.” Gertrude waved politely.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Horatio replied automatically, offering his hand.

Claudius shook his hand firmly. “The pleasure is all mine. Why don’t you come inside? I’ll go let Hamlet know that you’re here.” As Horatio stepped inside, Claudius marched up the staircase to their right.

“Um, where should I put my shoes?” Horatio asked, looking towards Gertrude as he bent down to untie his sneakers.

“Oh, right there is fine,” Gertrude said. Her voice was light.

Claudius came back downstairs. “Hamlet is just up in his room. You can go on up, Horatio.”

“Oh, thank you.” Horatio headed up the stairs awkwardly and was overwhelmed when confronted by a long hall of closed doors.

Hamlet popped out of one of the doors. “Hey, Horatio!” He stepped aside. “C’mon in! This is my room.”

“Thanks,” Horatio said, self-consciously trying to stop himself from hunching over. He walked inside and looked around. The large bed against the wall was made sloppily. Posters with tour dates and locations lined the space above the bed. “Wow, nice room. Are those all from concerts you’ve been to?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks! Some of them are. Most of the concerts I’ve been to were for The Decemberists.” Hamlet sat down on his bed. “You can sit down.”

Horatio sat on the edge of the bed, despite it being maybe the most spacious mattress he had ever seen. All the furniture, including the bed frame, appeared to be made from some sort of polished black wood. There were a few potted plants scattered in various locations around the room. “Is that, like...a hip hop artist?”

Hamlet laughed. “There is more to music, Horatio, than just hip hop and ballet.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Horatio defended himself awkwardly, feeling his face heat up.

“It’s like a rock band. Don’t tell me you just listen to classical instrumental music or something.”

Horatio thought about it. “I don’t really listen to music much at all. I guess I’m not really into it?”

“What?” Hamlet cried. “Impossible. Maybe you just haven’t heard the right music yet.” He pulled his phone out. “Here, I’ll play some of The Decemberists’s stuff for you. You’ll probably like them. And I can send you more music later, too.” Hamlet searched through his phone and, once he found something to play, shoved his phone back into his pocket. “This is their newest album, I’ll Be Your Girl.” He hopped off his bed. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the house?”

“Okay, sure!” Horatio got back up, too. He enjoyed listening to the music for all he learned about Hamlet from it. They went on to explore every room, and Horatio would ask questions, and Hamlet would answer so thoroughly as if Horatio hadn’t a clue about the most basic of things. Horatio was glad he didn’t have to do much of talking, and he found Hamlet’s perspective on even the simplest things to be interesting. Somehow, they killed a couple hours like that. The last part of Hamlet’s tour ended at his back porch. Where the brick ended, bright green grass began covering their lawn. Bushes of flowering plants on islands of mulch were on both sides of them. Sectioning off the yard at the back was a rotting wood fence, behind which a forest of beautifully entwined flora grew freely.

“So that’s my house,” Hamlet said, hands on his hips. “Next time, I’ll have to give you a tour of the woods.”

Horatio smiled. “Yes, definitely.” They walked around to the front porch. “Thank you again, so much, for having me over.”

“Anytime.”

“Well, I’ll see you later!” Horatio walked himself to his car and drove home.

Hamlet kept his promise and continued to send some of his favorite music to Horatio. He had at that point gathered that Horatio was more interested in alternative rock than the borderline screamo that Hamlet also had downloaded on his phone. He was sitting in bed, nights later, curating his newest playlist and texting with Horatio.

Horatio:  _ Okay, so I think this one is my favorite so far. _

Horatio:  _ https://youtu.be/8aecyFEnMYs (The Decemberists - We Both Go Down Together) _

Hamlet:  _ A romantic, are you?? _

Hamlet:  _ The whole album is good if you like songs like that _

Horatio:  _ Cool, thanks. I’ll listen to it now. _

Hamlet couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself. He was excited to have so easily found a genre of music that Horatio liked. His phone buzzed again and Hamlet felt his heart drop down into his stomach when he glanced over the message.

Ophelia:  _ Laertes thinks I need to stop hanging out with you and now he’s got dad behind it too :/ _

Hamlet stared hard at (or through?) his phone screen. What could he say to that? He didn’t particularly want to know  _ why  _ Laertes had suddenly made that decision or why their dad agreed with him. Hamlet could think of plenty of reasons himself, anyway. Ophelia was much too good of a person to have Hamlet just drag her down. Hamlet thought about it, and then he was mad, and then he was scared. 

Hamlet snapped back into focus when his phone buzzed again. 

Horatio:  _ I’m really liking Picaresque. I think Eli, The Barrow Boy is going on the list of favorites. _

Hamlet breathed out shakily and forced himself to stop thinking about Ophelia or what the hell he had done to piss Laertes off. If he thought about it too long, he could come up with too many answers of his own. 

  
Hamlet:  _ I’ll keep that in mind :) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah thanks again for reading...Also I was kidding when I mentioned that Fortinbras does jazz but now I can’t stop thinking about it so that’s gonna be a real thing you have to look forward to now...


End file.
